


Home's Inside of You

by majesticduxk



Series: smpc [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Bunker Fic, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Humour, M/M, Mild D/s, Rough Sex, Top!Sam, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: Home was a place to get comfortable. Sam just had a different version of comfort...
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: smpc [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/707349
Comments: 24
Kudos: 356





	Home's Inside of You

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I haven’t written in months, and then this is what happened. I don’t have any explanations. (actually I do. This whole entire *waves hand* _thing_ got written just so I could write Sam sleeping safe and snug inside Dean. It… look, just enjoy, ok???? This is me FINALLY writing the SMPC fic after not writing the SMPC fic for many, many moons. 
> 
> PS there’s a little line in here from Mock’s fic that I just couldn’t resist. Hope you don’t mind Mocky <3 <3 <3 
> 
> SO MANY THANKYOU'S to [hermit9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermit9/pseuds/Hermit9) and [TFWBT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFWBT/pseuds/TFWBT) the fast and amazing beta. All remaining mistakes are well and truly my own.

Sipping on his beer, Dean let Sam and Garth’s conversation fade into the background. There was something soothing about being in a bar. Sure, the place was different, but the sounds of the bar were familiar and soothing. It was moments like these he lived for. Moments that let him celebrate the wins and count his blessing.

Home! When the fuck had that happened?

Sometimes Dean couldn’t believe his luck. Actually, most of the time he couldn’t. Life still involved crisscrossing the country as he, with Sam by his side, hunted down and killed the asshole monsters that terrorised the… well, if not the innocent, the human. More often than not, the brothers found themselves holed up in some dodgy motel, only staying long enough to get rid of the monster of the week. Whether that was with a straight-forward salt and burn, or an exorcism, or even the surprisingly common stab with a willow spear whittled under a new moon, before they moved on. 

More and more often, after a night of well-earned relaxation, _moving on_ meant heading back to Kansas and the Men of Letters bunker. 

The bunker was amazing. It wasn’t the most comfortable of places, but it had everything Dean could ask for. A kitchen. A shower with endless hot water backed up by the most exquisite water pressure he’d ever experienced. A dead man’s robe. He even had his own room. Well, at some point he’d had his own room. That was before Sam decided he couldn’t sleep through the night without a Dean wrapped in his arms. (Weirdly enough, Sam hadn’t found the body pillow with Dean’s face on it that amusing. Dean thought that it was hilarious, and still couldn’t believe you could buy that on the internet. Heh.)

And more importantly? The bunker had Sam. Somewhere between saving the world and getting killed (well one of them getting killed, the details weren’t even relevant at this stage), Sam had made the decision to stay. It took a while, but finally Dean believed Sam wasn’t going to run out with the next chick who had a dog. Or guy. With a dog. Fuck! Sam had a type! Was Dean going to have to get him a fucking dog?

But no. It seemed even without a dog, Sam had put down roots and decided to stay. It used to be Dean who couldn’t wait to be back. A fully stocked fridge and pantry never got old. And don’t even start about the memory foam… Dean sighed just thinking about sinking into the soft bedding. He even had throw pillows and extra blankets, and knitted socks, because if you were going to do it at all, you did right. And Sam didn’t laugh – not since the first time Dean booted him out, because despite Sam’s bitchface and opinion that is was _their_ bedroom...

As if Sam had a leg to stand on! The man ate rabbit food. That immediately nullified any opinion he had, that Dean didn’t agree with.

“-and I can’t believe you settled down!”

“Huh?”

Apparently the conversation had moved on from general shit to requiring a response. Garth was staring at him with earnest eyes, and Sam was sending him a bitchface. Dean ignored them both and sipped his beer, before smiling his second most charming smile at Garth.

“Sorry, Garth. Got a little sidetracked, dreaming about being back—“ _home_ “—in the bunker again. Maybe I’ve gotten a little soft, now I’ve got a bed and home cooking every day.”

Dean gave an embarrassed little laugh, and patted his belly. It wasn’t fully a lie. He was getting soft, and even though he could still kick monster ass, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Garth just gave him a wide grin, and launched into some weirdass story about a house with stilts, and Sam, who read him a hell of a lot better, just gave him bedroom eyes. Yeah. Sammy liked Dean a little soft, which was almost more embarrassing than having a belly in the first place.

“This is my round, same again?”

The brothers both nodded as Garth ambled back to the bar. It took less than three seconds for Sam to be plastered to Dean’s side, his hand pushed under Dean’s shirt and gently stroking the pudge. Ugh.

“I can’t wait to be back in the bunker.” Sam’s breath is hot and heated in Dean’s ear. “Just one more night until I’m-“

“Say, did you want to come back to my place? You could meet Bess, and the kids. And just relax and-”

Dean almost jumped. Garth was a lot quicker – and quieter – now he was a werewolf. And even though Dean was tempted to meet the kids (because what the fuck would _Garth’s_ kids be like?) but more than that he wanted to get home. And Sam felt the same.

“It’s a kind offer, Garth, but like you said, we’ve got a home now and-“

Sam trailed off, and gave Garth that fucking sweet and innocent look. The one with the dimples. It was kinda pathetic. Sammy hadn’t been sweet and innocent in a long fucking time.

Garth fell for it though – how the fuck was Garth even still alive if he couldn’t tell when he was being played was beyond Dean. Although Dean was pretty sure he was being played too.

~o~

Dean gave a manly guffaw as he walked into the doorframe. Maybe he should have stopped a few beers ago.

“Garth only won because he’s a werewolf,” he told his reflection in the mirror. No. Sam’s reflection! Sam was behind him and looming. Why the hell was Sam looming? He was smiling that stupid sexy dimpled smile. And no one with dimples should loom. 

The reflection of Sam smiled harder, but didn’t stop looming.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” the reflection told Dean.

“I’m not drunk.” Dean stabbed his finger into the mirror, then winced as his finger bent back. “That wasn’t nice,” he told his face seriously.

Sam’s reflection just laughed, and somehow moved its arms and lifted Dean up, and threw him over his shoulder. Holy fuck that was bad. His head spun, and his stomach churned, and even though Dean hated throwing up (it was gross, and messy, and then his mouth tasted like ass for hours), he kinda hoped he threw up all down Sam’s back. You just didn’t do this to a guy!

“Thought you weren’t drunk?”

Somehow Dean was on his back, on the bed, and Sam was looming above him. What was with the fucking looming?

“And if you’re not drunk, it must be me making your head spin.”

~o~

Sam was a smooth fucker. Dean would give him that. Actually, scratch that. That was the wrong thought to be having while Sam was balls deep in him. Because that wasn’t smooth. That was hard and deep and – and Dean would never in a million years admit how good he felt with Sam buried inside him. In fact-

“Oh my god, Sam, what?!”

Dean squawked, but no one would blame him. His legs went from being comfortably wrapped around Sam’s slim hips to one of Dean’s legs being hitched over Sam’s shoulder with the other just spread further. And holy _fuck_ Sam was a big boy, but the position allowed him to sink in just that bit deeper. Dean was sure he’d never had Sam so deep in him before.

Surreptitiously he ran a hand over his belly, sure that he’d be able to feel Sam’s cock. He couldn’t feel it through his belly fat, but fuck he could feel it lodged in his ass. It was just so big, and present, and it will feel good if Sam would just _move_.

But he didn’t. Sam pressed forward just that bit more. And then stopped.

“Sam-“

Gently, surprisingly gently giving how hard Sam had just been slamming into him, Sam cupped Dean’s face in hands and lowered his mouth to Dean’s. The kiss was gentle, just barely a touching of lips. Dean’s lips parted and he strained up, chasing that glorious feeling, even as Sam mouthed down his jaw, the touch of lip and tongue a tease. That is until Sam reached the crook of Dean’s neck and let his teeth sink in.

“Mother_fucker_!”

While his first instinct was to punch Sam, with one leg hitched over Sam’s shoulder, and both hands caught in Sam’s strong grip, there wasn’t much Dean could do other than glare at his brother. Then the asshole had the audacity to lecture him!

“I can’t believe you were daydreaming while I fucking you.”

“Should be doing a better job then, Sammy.”

Apparently Dean didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

~o~

The next morning, Dean could barely move. His throat and shoulders were covered in bite marks, his hips bore finger shaped bruises, and his thighs were still shaking from being held apart for so long. And his ass…

Sam just looking stupidly proud, and pulled a fucking donut pillow out of somewhere, before ostentatiously placing it on the passenger seat. Dean would have argued, but he was too sore.

~o~

The 12 hour drive back to the bunker took 16. Sam stopped with disturbing regularity to pull Dean out of the car and fuck him over the hood of the Impala. Not that Dean complained. At least not the first, second or third time. But by the fourth his ass was sore and leaking come, and he had no more clean underwear to get changed into.

Dean couldn’t even begin to describe his relief as they pulled into the garage.

They sat there for a few moments, then Sam turned to Dean and smiled.

“Can’t wait to be home,” Sam told him seriously.

Shaking his head, Dean just reached for the door handle. Sam was such a drama queen. Sure the bunker was big, but it was less than a three minute walk from the garage to their bedroom. And if Dean was being honest, the garage counted as home. Maybe he could just sleep here? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in the back of Baby…

Before he could even think about make the move to the backseat, Sam had opened his door and pulled him out. He may have grumbled when Sam picked him up princess style (which made no sense, as if anyone was a princess it was Sammy) but he stopped his complaining as soon as they reached the bathroom. With weak arms, Dean reached towards the shower.

“That’s my home, Sam. Take me there. Take me there now!”

Snorting a laugh, Sam gently let Dean down, keeping a firm arm around his waist as Dean wobbled on his feet. Dean glared at his brother, daring - _daring_ \- him to say a word, but the damn sasquatch just looked proud. Fucker.

Still. The hand were gentle as they undressed him, and gentler still as they led him to the warm shower. Somehow, Sam was behind him, pulling Dean against his chest, so Dean didn’t even have to support himself. Eyes closed, he allowed Sam to wash him. 

“I live here now. I’m never leaving. Never, ever, ever.”

Sam laughed, and Dean ignored it. He was bone-weary and exhausted. Hell, he was so fucking spent his dick didn’t even twitch as Sam gently washed him, lathering up his pubic hair and giving his balls a thorough rinse. This was the fucking life. It wasn’t so comfortable when Sam’s hand slid its way to his ass, spreading his cheeks, before breaching Dean’s hole with his fingers. It took an embarrassingly long time to wash all of Sam’s come from his ass. Dean’s upper cheeks flushed. Having Sam clean his own come away was somehow more intimate, more embarrassing than having his cock buried there in the first place.

Sam didn’t mention Dean’s blush. Just finished cleaning him, and rinsed him off, before sweeping his off his feet once more. Dean thought about complaining, but just snuggled against Sam’s chest. If Sam wanted to prove how manly he was, who was Dean to complain?

Chuckling, Sam dropped a sweet kiss to Dean’s mouth. 

“Ready for bed?”

He didn’t bother waiting for an answer. Just carried Dean to bed. It didn’t take long before they were under the covers and Dean was wrapped in Sam’s strong arms. Sighing Dean let himself sink into the bed. For a few, wonderful moments he was comfortable. And then Sam’s hand came a wandering. Feather light, the fingers danced over his knee, before firmly gripping his thigh. Slowly and inexorably, Sam pulled Dean back towards him. Before long, Dean’s ass hit Sam’s cock and Sam paused before the hand ran up Dean’s thigh and gripped Dean’s ass cheek.

Dean opened his eyes. Even though Sam couldn’t see his expression, Dean was pretty confident his pissed off glare came through.

“Sam, what the fuck are you doing?”

The wandering hand stopped. Then started massaging his asscheek, pulling it wider, and wider. Dean was starting to get pissed. 

“Seriously Sam, what are yo_oooou_-”

Sam pulled at his cheek, the movement pulling at his hole. After all the fucking, Dean could feel it gape a little, his angry words cut short by his embarrassment. He didn’t even have time to ask what the fuck Sam was doing before he felt Sam’s cock nudging at his hole. And no fucking way!

“Sam! No… I can’t, I just…”

Ignoring Dean’s spluttered complaints Sam worked his way into Dean, pushing himself forward, and pulling Dean back until Dean’s ass was flush with Sam’s body. And then, Sam’s hands came over Dean – one across his chest, pulling him back, the other over his hip. Dean tensed as Sam’s hand petted his soft belly, before cupping his even softer soft cock. And then Sam just… relaxed. He sighed deeply and nuzzled at Dean’s neck.

“Shhhhhh. It’s fine, Dean. You’re fine. We’re fine.” Sam spent a few moments kissing Dean’s neck, before his head dropped, just resting against Dean’s shoulder. 

“It’s good to be back home.”

**Author's Note:**

> It was actually easier getting back on a bike after about a decade than getting back into writing after 6 months.


End file.
